


The True Nightmare

by completelyhopeless



Series: Shirt Theft [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, sequel kind of but not at the same time, shirt theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completelyhopeless/pseuds/completelyhopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha wakes in the night to a discovery that will haunt her during the daytime.</p><p>Can be considered a companion to "Just Right" or a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The True Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts).



> Fills the prompt _[Marvel Cinematic Universe, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff (+/Bobbi Morse), they always think that Clint fell first.](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/571363.html?thread=79967203#t79967203)_
> 
> I went with Clint and Natasha, as they are my OTP.
> 
> This sort of ties in with "Just Right." Natasha is wearing one of the shirts she stole from him, but that is the only connection, so reading that first isn't necesary.

* * *

Natasha's apartment had sound-proofed walls. All of the safehouses she used did. She could not allow for her weakness in the night to be something of common knowledge. She could not let neighbors or potential enemies know of the dreams that would cause her to wake with her throat raw from screaming, the images that even the Red Room had not managed to erase from her mind.

Clint had been assigned somewhere without her, as happened every now and again even though they were partners and a team, and she had been busy herself, not even thinking of him until she was alone that night, not until she woke, shaking in horror as the memory refused to fade.

She pulled the sleeves of Clint's sweater over her hands and covered her mouth with her hands as she shuddered, letting the darkness of the Red Room fade as she drew in breath after breath. Clint's scent came off the sweater, and every time she breathed it in, she felt calmer, as though he was there himself and soothing her, speaking to her in that way he had that was far from most of the men she'd known in her life, the way that she knew could be trusted.

She closed her eyes, almost able to imagine him beside her, lying next to her as he had on missions. Injured or not, sometimes they did that, fell asleep to the rhythm of the other's breathing, to the proximity and safety of their partner's presence. She could sleep when he was there. She trusted him to keep watch, to keep them alive, to protect her.

She stilled. When had she ever needed anyone to _protect_ her? She was one of the most feared assassins in the world. So was he, but that did not mean she _needed_ his protection. She did not.

Her stomach twisted with a new realization, one she would had laughed at if anyone else suggested it, but she had done so. She lied to many, knew how to manipulate, but she would not manipulate herself this way. She would not say she _wanted_ his protection. Wanting his protection was for someone else who did not know how to kill and whose ledger did not have more red than one lifetime could wipe out. She didn't need his protection. She didn't want his protection. She didn't want his love.

Only Clint was not in love with her.

_If she was saying she wanted his love..._

No. That was the true nightmare. That could not be allowed to happen. She was the Black Widow. She did not love anyone. Love was for children. She owed him a debt, that was all.

Huddled in his sweater, alone in her room, she leaned back against the headboard and drew her knees up to her chest, watching for the dawn and knowing that she would not be free of that nightmare, not even in the light of day.

Not if it was love.

It wasn't love.

It was just a nightmare.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I should not be allowed to view prompt communities when I can't sleep.


End file.
